~

I’m a Tuesday’s child, born

the 289th day of that year,

the sign of the rabbit marks me 

as balanced, fair-minded, 

the books, if they are to be

believed, list me as perceptive

kind and self-assured,

was I built from day-one

character traits already set?

did I not have a say, or

an option in how I would

navigate through my own life? 

do invisible strings control me, 

resisting the speculative slash 

of a rebellious knife?

what if I could construct

my ideal self, could I really 

embody such a grand title 

one that my own mind’s eye 

considers perfect?

*

© GRS 7/24

~

twixt solstice and equinox 

we break bread to give thanks 

and bless the harvest’s fruit,

another Lammas Sabbat turns 

the yearly wheel full-circle

as days cool, colours turn

light fades earlier to become 

an infrequently timid visitor,

it’s time to take stock, 

renew and revalue life’s 

important things, prepare to 

light the darkness, 

dance with the young 

talk with the old, plan

for the future, record our past

*

GRS 7/24

~

there are worlds within 

worlds within other worlds,

 there are distances 

in space, in deep space

so incomprehensibly far 

they are measured in 

numbers that man finds

unfathomable,

as man stands in wonder

to look at the majesty of 

the heavens,

beneath his feet, myriad

colonies of minuscule 

creatures inhabit the tiny 

patch of soil under his shoes,

we are in parallel, both 

small and insignificant

man relates to the enormity

of the cosmos as if standing

alone in the universe,

worlds within worlds

unimaginable distances

the earth a speck of dust and

mankind’s irrelevant presence 

hardly worth computing

*

GRS 7/24

~

words wake me,

some striding purposefully

across my reverie while 

others take a stealthier tread with 

the practised guile of a thief

all demand my attention,

a few, a small hearty band

jostle me with the impatience 

of children who will not be pacified 

prompting me to step carefully

through their infantile alphabet

some are slippery fish I cannot catch

or enemies I choose not to fight

they paint crosses on my door

a plague that isolates me 

in the torpidity of endless hours,

others come to stay like friends

asking for gentle discourse, mutating to 

become curious tourists with colourful

questions from within the dark

if I am careless some might shun my hand 

and slip away without a care whilst

others cling on to me as if drowning

these myriad words alone

understand the tenure of my loneliness 

my word blindness, fractured viral

broken, I owe these words 

everything and nothing

as do they to me

*

© GRS 7/24

~

it is often said that

for a ten-year-old

a decade is a lifetime,

three hundred million

inquisitive heartbeats 

of hope wonder and 

aspiration,

*

© GRS 7/24

~

I’m not an old warrior

or a displaced refugee, 

nor a jilted lover

a politician, prophet 

or a parson,

I have no angst 

I’m not addled nor addicted, 

not allergic or awash

with argumentative rhetoric,

I am shrivelled, desiccated 

and cracked, parched so bare 

that nothing will grow within,

all my inspiration hampered 

by banality, that dilute substance 

devoid of taste, the burnt-out 

residue of overwhelm

I am diseased with the vague

limp of tawdry blasphemy 

I am ordinary, a voiceless 

wordless cadaver

hankering glumly over

this empty page

*

© GRS 7/24

~

dreamers see a dream

as a story, a tableau that

might include themselves

in which they never

appear in person,

~

in a dream, the cast of

characters may differ

in age, juxtaposed across

generations, illogically set 

next to those of another

time and place,

~

a dreamer may enjoy

supernatural powers and

abilities outside his 

normal ken, or else feel 

disabled or slowed by 

the invisible torpor of the

unconscious realm,

~

dreams are a gamble that

the dreamer cannot refuse 

to take, thrust nightly into an 

environment that may be 

either hostile or friendly,

a dream being the perfect

mirror to our true psyche

*

© GRS 7/24